


can't write one song that's not

by susiecarter



Category: DC Extended Universe, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Aftermath, Awkward Conversations, Confessions, Dubious Consent, Extra Treat, F/F, Kissing, Magic Made Them Do It, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26276224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiecarter/pseuds/susiecarter
Summary: She can handle this. She can. She just needs to act normal, like nothing happened, like it's fine.Which it is. It's just—It's just that this is the first time she's seen Diana since it happened, and she has no idea what the hell to do.
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Lois Lane
Comments: 29
Kudos: 117
Collections: Fifth DCEU Fanworks Exchange





	can't write one song that's not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mashimero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mashimero/gifts).



> So you asked for Diana/Lois, and you had sex pollen/made-them-do-it in your likes, and you also wanted Diana and Lois and getting into and out of scrapes ... and I couldn't help but pile that together into a late treat. :D I hope you like it, mashimero, and that you've had a great DCEU-Ex! ♥
> 
> Title borrowed from Shawn Mendes, "If I Can't Have You", mostly because it was stuck in my head. /o\

Someone walks up to Lois's desk while she's underneath it. Lois can see their shoes: really, really nice ones.

"One second," Lois says, stretching her fingers the last critical half-inch she needs to reach her pen. It's late; everybody else is gone, at least in this part of the building. She'd decided to stay in the office, try to get something done. She'd been flipping the pen around in her hands, absent, staring off into the middle distance—and then she'd bounced it off a knuckle by mistake and sent it skittering off past her own feet.

She has a second to realize this maybe isn't the best first impression in the world to make on somebody who's probably here to see Lois Lane, Pulitzer-Prize-Winning Investigative Reporter. God, she needs to get it together. She's been useless all day. She's been useless all _week_. But she can probably still salvage this, she thinks, if she just manages to sit up without her hair flipped into her face, if she smooths down her blouse and sets down her pen and points a nice professional smile at—

Oh. It's Diana.

Lois swallows, and grips the pen like it's somehow going to be able to help her out of this. Suddenly she's ridiculously self-conscious about having tried to get her hair to fall just right, about having tugged on her shirt—drawn attention to the neckline, in other words, and shit, shit, she does not have it together at all.

"Diana," she manages. "Hi."

"Good afternoon," Diana says gently, gaze steady on Lois's face, the barest soft slant to her mouth.

"I, um. I, uh." Jesus fucking Christ, Lane. Lois digs her fingernails into her palms and makes herself smile, and it's a polite normal smile and there's nothing weird about it at all. "Something I can help you with?"

Diana looks at her silently for a moment.

She doesn't seem angry. That's—that's good. Lois swallows again, helpless. Her skin feels hot, too tight, a size too small. She's been looking at Diana for too long, and she knows it, and she still can't look away.

She can handle this. She can. She just needs to act normal, like nothing happened, like it's fine.

Which it is. It's just—

It's just that this is the first time she's seen Diana since it happened, and she has no idea what the hell to do.

At the time, it had been the easiest goddamn thing in the world. Lois had known _exactly_ what to do, and she hadn't hesitated for a second.

She'd been drugged out of her head, or the next best thing to it. She knows that now. But while it was happening, it hadn't felt like it. It had felt like perfect shining clarity, knowing exactly what she wanted and exactly what to do to get it, and with absolutely no reasons left not to. She'd been delighted, giddy. Joyful. It had all seemed so straightforward, so simple. No doubt, no fear, no uncertainty.

It had been a spell, technically, and not a drug. If it had been a drug—Diana would have been fine. If it had been something in the air, she could've held her breath, hauled Lois out of there and not felt a thing.

But just because Diana has magic of her own, just because she's pretty much literally a goddess, that doesn't mean magic doesn't work on her. If anything, for all Lois knows, it might work better—maybe it's harder to grab hold of mundane things, things made out of such a different kind of reality. But Diana—

Diana's more than real, or maybe a little unreal. Diana's larger than life, strange and beautiful and wondrous, and so is magic.

And this spell had been a powerful one. Lois had been right next to the epicenter, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. It had seized her in an instant, overcome her entirely. And when she'd realized Diana was there, was reaching for her—god, she'd been _glad_.

Glad, greedy. Smug and dizzy and jubilant. She remembered Diana's face, grave and concerned, the rippling blue-white flicker of the spell still pulsing its way through the air. Diana had been trying to help her up, lift her, carry her out of there; she knows that now. But at the time, she'd just thought Diana felt what she felt. She'd just thought Diana wanted what she wanted, and she'd been fucking thrilled.

She'd tried to drag Diana down. It hadn't worked, at first. Diana had resisted her gently, soberly, speaking soft soothing words Lois hadn't been able to understand.

And then it had started working. Diana's breath had caught in her throat. She'd blinked, once, twice. Her eyes had seemed abruptly huge and dark in her face, and she'd wet her lips and then bitten them. Lois hadn't been able to look away.

After that, it's all kind of a haze. Lois remembers the sheer heat that had been rolling its way through her, how thirsty she'd been for the touch of Diana's hands: a cool shock of rain, water in the desert. She remembers Diana over her, Diana's height and strength so overwhelming, so surrounding. So exactly what Lois had wanted, after lying here writhing and panting on her own for what had felt like hours and couldn't have been more than ten minutes.

Diana had held her down easily, both Lois's wrists caught in one of her hands—had pushed Lois's thighs apart with the other, pressed herself between them. Lois had strained to get a hand free, not because she minded but because god, she had wanted to touch Diana so badly she'd felt like she'd die of it; she remembers gripping the edges of Diana's armor, clutching it, mindlessly trying to pry it off her and get to the skin underneath.

Somewhere in there, she knows she gripped Diana's hair, dragged her down and kissed her. She knows Diana had torn her shirt open, kissed marks into the base of her throat, across her collarbones; she remembers Diana's mouth, teasing, infuriating, following the seams of her bra instead of just getting the damn thing out of the way, and she'd have done it herself except she'd been too busy clutching Diana's head, clenching around the three fingers Diana had already shoved inside her, squeezing her trembling thighs around Diana's waist. It had been—

It had gotten a little out of control, is the point.

It hadn't been anybody's fault. A spell, that was all. Nothing they could've done about it.

But it's been a week, and Lois still can't stop thinking about it, flashes of it coming back to her out of nowhere—sitting at her desk, on the bus on the way home, lying in bed and telling herself to go to sleep instead of taking _another_ helpless guilty too-long shower—

And now, as if it hadn't already been hard enough to deal with, Diana's standing two feet away from her, and Lois has to do her best to pretend she doesn't remember rolling them over until Diana was under her, dragging Diana's head back and biting the column of her throat.

Great.

Lois clears her throat, and presses her thighs together under her desk. She's not going to stand up, and she's not going to round her desk and climb Diana like a tree. She's going to be responsible, and friendly, and professional, and whatever it is Diana actually came here for, Lois is going to make sure she gets it.

It's fine.

Diana's mouth is pressed into a soft line. She stands there a moment longer, and then says, "I—suppose I only wished to come and speak to you. To see you, and to see whether you were—"

"Sorry," Lois blurts.

Jesus.

She can feel herself go red, and puts her face in her hands. "God, I'm so sorry. I'm _so_ sorry. I—when we—I said a lot of things that—I _did_ a lot of things that I shouldn't have—"

"No, no," Diana says instantly. "No, Lois."

Lois isn't looking at her. Lois _can't_ look at her.

But she can't exactly miss it when Diana reaches across the desk, touches the backs of Lois's wrists, spreads her hands over Lois's and holds on.

It isn't like it was. Lois isn't on fire, alight with reckless relentless want; Diana's hands on her skin aren't taking her apart, remaking her, something she's so desperate for she might die without it.

She's just sitting in the middle of her office, mortified, eyes hot, and Diana's touching her, and she can't stop wanting Diana to keep doing it.

"Don't," Diana says quietly. "Don't apologize to me, please. There is no need. You didn't hurt me, and I am only grateful not to have hurt you. I—I hope."

Lois blinks. "What? No. No, of course you didn't."

And Diana lets out a soft unsteady breath and leans closer still, until their foreheads touch. "I'm glad," she says, very low. "I didn't mean to—"

She stops.

Lois's heart is pounding.

"I should have hated," Diana manages at last, "to have made you unhappy. I hate to think you are unhappy now. For me, it was—"

She stops again. And that, Lois thinks distantly, is about half a dozen more hesitations out of Diana in one conversation than Lois has ever heard before. Diana just doesn't _do_ that. Diana's steady, confident, sure; she doesn't falter, and she doesn't waver, and she never has trouble figuring out what to say.

"I don't know what to call it," Diana murmurs at last, after the silence has stretched between them. "I wish to be careful. I wish to be thoughtful. I wish to be considerate of you. I should tell you that it was fine, that it is no cause for further thought or attention; that we may go on as we did before, as friends."

"But," Lois hears herself say, because that's absolutely dangling a _gigantic_ but.

"But," Diana agrees, "honesty demands otherwise. I cannot lie to you, Lois. I will not."

Holy shit.

Lois lurches away from her in surprise, wide-eyed. "Holy shit," she says blankly. "Holy shit, you liked it."

And Diana meets her eyes, wets her lips and lifts her chin and says, "Yes. I did."

"Are you serious?"

"I am. I—regret having taken what I wished of you, and having done it that way. When you could not stop me, when you could not even want to stop me. But that isn't the same as regretting that it happened at all, and I cannot apologize for that." She smiles, just a little, a wry wistful twist of her mouth. "I am too selfish, I suppose. Too selfish, and too greedy. You owe me nothing; I make no demands of you. But—"

"You weren't going to lie about it," Lois finishes for her. "Yeah. You said that." She swallows, and turns her hands in Diana's, wraps her fingers around Diana's before Diana can pull away. "The thing is, when I said I was sorry for what I said and did, it was more that I was sorry for doing it to you like that. I was—you came to get me out of there, to try to help me, and instead you got sucked into it, too."

"But," Diana murmurs, raising an eyebrow.

And Lois can't help but smile at her for it. "But," she echoes, "I liked it, too. I liked it, and I can't stop thinking about it. And if you wanted to work our way up to trying it again when we aren't both completely out of our minds, I would be glad to."

Diana's looking at her searchingly, now. Her expression isn't serious, tense, intent. There's warmth in her face, a bright pleased look in those dark eyes, and she slides her fingers more firmly between Lois's and says, "I think I would like that also."

"Fantastic," Lois says, and of all the places this conversation could have ended, she wasn't expecting it to be Diana leaning in to kiss her firmly, lingeringly, in the middle of the empty Planet office.

But, she decides distantly, she definitely isn't complaining.


End file.
